Denham.

Here comes mother!

Undine.

Oh, bother these horrid old sums! (Flops into chair.)

(Enter Mrs. Denham, with flowers.  She comes to the cabinet to place them in a vase, and sees the water spilt.)

Mrs. Denham.

What’s all this mess?  What have you been doing, miss? (Crosses to
Undine.)

Undine.

(rising and standing before her) Please, mother, I only made a libation.

Mrs. Denham.

You naughty, wicked girl!  Oh, this wicked, wicked waste of time!

Undine.

(whimpering) But, mother, I only—­

Mrs. Denham.

Hold your tongue, miss.  Don’t attempt to make excuses. (Steps back, looks at Undine.) And just look at that pinafore, that was put on you clean this morning, and now it is all over dirt!  You have been climbing trees again.

Undine.

(whimpering) I wasn’t climbing trees.  I only climbed one tree.

Denham.

(aside) Well parried!

Mrs. Denham.

Oh, these mean prevarications!  If I take my eye off you for a moment, you disobey me.  But you shall obey me—­you shall obey! (Shakes the child; she screams.)

Denham.

Dear!  Dear!

Mrs. Denham.

How dare you scream at me like that?

Undine.

(crying) But you’re hurting me.

Mrs. Denham.

Bear it then, bear it decently, without screaming like a beast. 
Have you done your sums?

Undine.

Not all.

Mrs. Denham.

(looking at sums) Only one done, and that not right.  Oh, this wicked waste of time!  You are killing me and killing yourself.  When you waste your time you are wasting your life.  Why will you waste your time?

Undine.

I don’t know.

Mrs. Denham.

Then you must be taught to know.

Denham.

May I say a word?  I am chiefly to blame.  We were talking about the
Greek gods.

Mrs. Denham.

Oh well, if you encourage her in her laziness, I can do nothing. (Crosses L as she speaks, then turns suddenly.) Get out of my sight, miss!  It is time for you to go out now.  Go away, and take off that pinafore.  You are a disgrace to your father and to me. (Gives her a final shake.  Undine runs out screaming.) Oh dear!  Oh dear!  There!  Listen to that precious daughter of yours, filling the house with her yells. (She presses her hands over her ears.) Oh, that child will be the death of me! (Throws herself down upon the couch.) She ought never to have been born.  Her existence is a mistake and a curse.

Denham.

(sighing) Yes, we are all mistakes from the ideal standpoint.